


The Chair - Version Two

by Wolfsbride



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Light Bondage, Older Woman/Younger Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 10:15:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2187951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfsbride/pseuds/Wolfsbride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My take on Bond, M and an innocent chair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chair - Version Two

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Persiflage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/gifts), [tayryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tayryn/gifts), [LadyDuchess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDuchess/gifts), [mysticmelodies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticmelodies/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Desk](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2125977) by [Persiflage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage). 



Bond sits on his sofa, glaring at the tumbler of Scotch he’s got in his hand. Beside him is a pair of crutches, the reason for his foul mood. With a huff, he takes a healthy swig of the amber liquid. 

He’s aware he’s not doing the Scotch justice; he’s also aware he’s not supposed to mix pain killers and alcohol. He just doesn’t care. He wasn’t supposed to break his damn leg either, but he did. And now he’s stuck on medical leave for the next six weeks. 

The only good thing about the whole mess is that the break isn’t a horribly serious one; the bone didn’t rupture the skin, and with time and rest, everything should heal properly, with no need for pins. It’s just that he’s bloody annoyed with himself. He’d been chasing his mark across rooftops and had obviously misjudged his landing, never mind that he’s pulled off the manoeuvre numerous times before. 

It didn’t help that M was less than impressed when the dust finally settled; scolding him about his recklessness. He wonders if the years of sitting behind a desk has made her forget what it’s like to be on the front lines. He’s about to take another gulp of Scotch when his door buzzer goes off.

Putting his glass down on the little table beside his sofa, Bond wrestles with the crutches, cursing under his breath and finally manages to get to his feet. He hops his way out of the living room and down the hall to the front entrance. When he opens the door, he is surprised to find M on the other side.

Bond scowls. “Come to tear a few more strips off me, then?” 

He knows he sounds like a petulant teenager but he can’t help himself. It’s not like he expected her to be physically demonstrative; he understands that they can’t take that sort of risk at work, but it would have been nice if she’d expressed some sort of concern for his health.

M arches a brow. “Why don’t you invite me in and find out?” 

His scowl deepens. “I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.” He doesn’t dare slam the door in M’s face, but he’s hoping she’ll take the hint.

“I can make that an order, if you’d like. And do stop sulking, Bond. It’s unbecoming in children, and more so in a man of your age.” Her tone is stern.

Bond turns away, leaving the door open. “Do as you like. You always do.”

He mutters to himself as he makes his way slowly down the hall. He assumes M is following him, as he’d heard the door close but there isn’t the tell-tale sound of heels clicking against the floor. When he turns from the hall into the living room, and starts toward the sofa, he gets confirmation that M entered despite his chilly welcome.

“Just a moment, Bond.” 

Bond thinks for half a second about ignoring her, but decides it’s not worth the trouble it’d cause. He stops and waits to see what M is going to do.

She skirts around him and pulls his lone wooden chair to a more central position in the room. It is a hideous monstrosity, with a high back and solid arms and it is hard as a rock. It’s the chair he uses for people he doesn’t particularly like. When it’s positioned to her satisfaction, M pats the back of it. “Sit.”

He is tempted to bark like a dog in an attempt to rile her up, but with his luck, she would probably shoot him instead of storming out. With a sigh, he hobbles over and lowers himself carefully into it. M collects his crutches from him and takes them to the sofa, laying them across the cushions.

When she returns to stand in front of him, he finally notices that she is wearing a long heavy coat, which is unusual because the evening is quite mild, and solid white pumps, which explains why he couldn’t hear her walking behind him. She is also wearing white stockings or tights; he can’t tell which because of the length of the coat. He forgets that he’s annoyed with her due to the strangeness of her clothes and gives her an inquiring look. 

M merely smirks, undoes the top button of the coat, which is the only one fastened, and shrugs it off her shoulders. 

Bond is glad he’s already sitting down because he’s certain he would have fallen over if he hadn’t been. M is wearing a traditional white nurse’s uniform, but the colour is the only thing traditional about it. It looks like something one would purchase from a sex shop. 

The top of the outfit barely restrains M’s breasts. In fact they look as though they’re about to burst through the fabric at any minute. The skirt is so short it skims the tops of her thighs, giving the illusion of modesty. Now that she is uncovered, he can see that she’s wearing white stockings, which stop at mid-thigh and are held up by frilly white garters. 

Bond gapes. It’s a shock to see her dressed in such a fashion. Not even in the privacy of his fantasies, had he ever imaged her like this. 

M steps closer and pushes Bond’s mouth closed with a finger under his chin. “Knowing, as I do, your penchant for dismissing concerns about your health, Bond, I thought it prudent to conduct my own examination.” 

Leaning down, M brushes her lips against Bond’s. Tracing the outline of his lips with her tongue, she nips at the bottom one. She holds it between her teeth for a second, before soothing it with another kiss.

Bond moans. Her perfume fills his senses and from his position he has the perfect view of her cleavage, pushed up as it is by the tightness of the uniform’s blouse. His cock responds accordingly, and he’s rather glad he’d only managed a half glass of Scotch before she’d shown up. 

He’s just about to reach up and fill his hands with her voluptuous tits, when there’s a faint metallic sound and several rapid clicks. He glances down and sees that he’s now hand cuffed to the arms of the chair by both wrists. Looking up, he catches sight of her smirk widening. Oh dear.

“M.” He doesn’t get to say anything else because M places a finger over his mouth. 

“It’s just a precautionary measure, you understand. Wouldn’t want you skewing the results.” 

With that, M straightens, and takes a thermometer out of the very tiny pocket in her skirt. She shakes it, and then licks the bulb, curling the tip of her tongue around it. Then she slides it in and out of her mouth several times before running it gently over Bond’s lips. When she slips it into his mouth and under his tongue, he whimpers and spreads his legs, trying to relieve the pressure as his prick stiffens rapidly. 

As she waits for the temperature to set, M runs the tips of her fingers over Bond’s face. She feels behind his ears and under his chin as though she really _was_ checking for something serious, but she also trails her fingertips over his eyelids and down his nose. She caresses the tops of his ears, and then leans down to bite at his earlobe. 

Bond jerks in response to the small flare of pain and shifts on the chair as his cock continues to swell. M’s breasts are in his line of sight again and he wishes she would let him suck on them instead of the stupid thermometer. Instead, she licks his lobe, then stands and takes the thermometer out of his mouth.

Checking it, M shakes her head. “Hm. Not a very clear reading, I’m afraid. We shall have to try another method.” 

Tucking the thermometer back into the pocket of her skirt, she flicks open the button that is valiantly trying to hold the edges of the blouse together. Her breasts spill out lewdly. 

“Fuck!” The chains on the handcuffs rattle sharply when Bond pulls on them as he tries to reach for her. It is then that he discovers the handcuffs are _not_ quick release, but standard issue. He is stuck until M deigns to release him. His prick hardens fully, pressing against the front of his jogging trousers. 

M steps between Bond’s spread legs, and presses close. Her thigh is tight against his groin and Bond can barely stop himself from rocking his hips so that he is rubbing against her leg. He is distracted momentarily by the sight of M cupping a hand under her right breast and lifting it to his mouth.

Bond obliges by lowering his head and closing his mouth over M’s plump nipple. He laves it, biting and sucking until the nipple rises into a stiff peak. M shifts her knee and Bond moans around his mouthful when she rubs against his rock hard cock. 

“Lift up, Bond.”

Bond lets go reluctantly, and then realizes M had only wanted to switch breasts. He lavishes the same attention on her left breast until M pulls away completely. Bond yanks at his restraints but M turns and goes back over to where she’d dropped the coat. She bends over slowly and the skirt, being practically non-existent to begin with, rides up, giving Bond an excellent view of M’s arse. The view reveals that she is not wearing any knickers. 

“Fucking Christ!” His prick lurches and his hips arch involuntarily. He mentally curses both the sturdiness of his chair and the deviousness of his M. The woman seems to have made it her life’s mission to drive him insane with lust. 

M takes her time rummaging through the pockets of the coat. Her arse sways back and forth and Bond feels like he’s being hypnotized. Her pussy lips glisten. He doesn’t know if it’s her natural moisture or if she’d lubed herself up before she arrived, but the thought of M slicking her fingers and then getting herself wet makes his cock and balls throb. 

By the time M finally straightens up, and turns around, there is a sizeable tent in Bond’s jogging trousers as well as a damp spot where his cock has been leaking. He stares at her standing there and shifts on the chair, groaning as the tip of his cock rubs against the soft fabric of his jogging trousers. As she moves towards him, he realizes that she’s holding a blood pressure cuff in her hands and has a stethoscope around her neck.

M stands beside Bond and wraps the cuff around his bicep, making sure to stroke her fingers up and down his muscles as she does so. Bond turns his head to watch her and shivers under her touch. Once the cuff is secure, she pops the ear pieces of the stethoscope into her ears. 

Bond braces himself for the cold sting of the diaphragm, but instead of pressing it onto his arm, just under the cuff, M raises her hand and rubs the diaphragm up and down between her breasts, drawing Bond’s eye back to her chest. 

Yanking hard at the handcuffs, Bond whines. “M. Please. Let me touch you.”

M tuts. “You’ve _been_ touching me, Bond.” 

He shakes his head but doesn’t get a chance to say he wants to touch her properly, because M pushes against his side and he can feel her nipples rubbing against his arm. He doesn’t even notice her tucking the diaphragm under the cuff and inflating it. It’s only when she hms and steps away that he is able to focus again.

“A bit high. I think this warrant further exploration.” Stepping back between Bond’s spread legs, she slips both hands under his t-shirt.

Bond hisses. Her hands are soft and warm and feel divine against his skin. His prick strains as she trails her fingers all over his chest. When she circles his nipples, then pinches them, his hips snap up. 

“Oh fuck! M! Please!” He tugs at the handcuffs again, desperate to guide her hands to where he needs them so badly. 

“Language, Mr Bond.” 

M makes a show of pressing the stethoscope to Bond’s chest under the t shirt, moving it from one spot to another, raking her nails as she does so. By the time she’s done _listening_ to his heartbeat, Bond is bucking in the chair, trying to get any kind of friction on his aching prick. 

When she draws back, he stares up at her, panting. His cock is sticking straight out and his ass is off the chair as he tries to reach her. “Please. No more teasing. Please!”

Smiling, M removes the cuff and lets it fall to the floor. She keeps the stethoscope on as she turns around and lowers herself onto Bond’s lap, easing his swollen cock into her damp pussy. Bond swears viciously and yanks at his restraints as she slowly works her way down. 

When M is finally seated, he tries to thrust up, but without being able to wrap his arms around her, he can’t get enough leverage. He humps up as best he can but it’s totally unsatisfactory and he rests his forehead against the back of M’s neck. 

“Oh God! Please!”

With a throaty chuckle, M starts to move, rolling and twisting her hips. 

Bond shouts as pleasure washes over him. M is massaging his prick with her pussy and he’s about to embarrass himself because he can feel his balls tightening and drawing up already.

“Don’t you dare come before I do, Bond!”

“Oh Christ!” Bond bites his lip and hangs on. 

M shudders through her climax and after a minute, slips off Bond’s lap and turns to kneel at his feet. She wraps a hand around Bond’s cock to steady it and leans in, breathing over the tip. Bond comes with a grunt and watches wide eyed as his come spills across M’s lips and chin. When she looks up at him and slowly licks her lips, his prick twitches in her hand. 

Laughing, M pulls a chain with a small key on it from around her neck, then unlocks and removes his cuffs. She rubs his sore wrists. “It is my expert opinion that all your important bits are in fine working order, James.”

Bond blinks, then leans into M’s personal space and licks the rest of his come off her face. When he draws back, he cups M’s cheeks. “I apologize for my behaviour. I thought you didn’t care that I was hurt.”

M sighs heavily. “I care too much. That’s why I yell at you when you take unnecessary risks.”

Bond kisses her again and then sits back. M helps him pull his jogging trousers up over his hips and fetches his crutches. He gets them under his arms and stands. He decides that he feels much better. A round of sex with M is better than any medicine.

“Can you stay?” He is hopeful.

M looks away. “I shouldn’t,” she says quietly. 

Bond shuffles the few steps it takes to bring him close to M. “Please? For a little while?”

Looking back up at Bond, M takes in his earnest expression. “Alright.”


End file.
